


02:34 AM

by Vesker



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesker/pseuds/Vesker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short AU Oneshot | Various inmates were recovered from Mount Massive and placed in recuperation. Waylon has been living in shared accommodation with Eddie for months; the doctors think forgiveness is key to recovery. Two in the morning is always a good time for reflection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	02:34 AM

Waylon shifted under the expanse of duvet, unfocused eyes idly watching the ceiling. If he had to have a shot at guessing the time, it was definitely early morning. Perhaps somewhere between two and three AM. The body beside him also shifted, but this one was fast asleep. If Eddie Gluskin was anything, he was a heavy sleeper. Then again, the amount of pills that the orderlies supplied him at bedtime might have something to do with it.

Dream suppressants, something that vaguely resembled Rohypnol… Other things that he didn’t even _want_ to know the reason for.

He turned his head to the bedroom door which stood ajar, light from the room beyond casting a rectangle on the far wall. He never liked sleeping with the door open, but it beat having the main light on. Eddie didn’t seem to get along with the pitch dark. He’d asked for a nightlight a couple of times, shook off with a promise of _‘we’ll look into it’_. Which, considering the staff couldn’t even be bothered to find them separate beds, he hadn’t been all that hopeful about anyway.

The asylum ( _recovery centre_ , he should really stop thinking of the place as another nuthouse), was always eerily quiet at night. Though if the other residents were as drugged up as Eddie by lights out, then that was hardly surprising. He wasn’t usually in need of soporific drugs himself, but this recent bout of insomnia seemed to be lasting. He would mention it to the doctor, but who knew what the response would be?

Tests, probably.

They sure loved an excuse to submit a resident to testing.

Eddie rolled over and Waylon grunted as one of the man’s arms fell heavily across his middle, winding him. This was not an occurrence that he was unused to. He’d woken up in various positions over the past weeks; from being nearly shoved off of the edge of the bed to being pressed against Eddie’s chest. He had complained about it at first, but didn’t particularly mind any more. When you’re stuck living in close quarters with someone, you learn to adjust.

He could remember the first time he’d been placed in a room with Eddie since the incident at Mount Massive. He’d decided – internally, the doctors wouldn’t have liked to hear about it otherwise – to never forgive the man. He wasn’t supposed to warm to him. He wasn’t supposed to become friends with him. And now look where he was.

Because, if he was going to be honest, he had become fond of him. There was still a lingering fear that would probably never _completely_ abate and Eddie still had his moments where the personality he’d met at Mount Massive was visible, but aside from that… The man was pretty harmless. In fact, he could hardly get by on his own. He was rather skittish; loud, sudden noises, the absence of light, medical equipment… A whole range of things unnerved him. He liked to sit quietly and stitch or knit. And for the majority of the time, he was soft-spoken and… Perhaps not _kind_ , but he certainly wasn’t horrible.

Meek. Meek was a good way of putting it.

Sighing, Waylon rested hands over Eddie’s arm. The man beside him reflexively shivered, undoubtedly from the touch of significantly cooler fingers to his skin. He curled one hand about the crook of Eddie’s elbow and lightly ran the fingers of the other up and down his forearm. He had learnt that Eddie enjoyed such stroking and petting, in the rare occasions that he would permit it.

His reward was to be pulled in closer, Eddie’s hand tightening on his waist.

Night time was the only time he could… Indulge like this. Eddie always seemed to be wary about overly familiar touches during the day. Unless the man requested them himself (there had been more than one time where Eddie had broken down and promptly curled up in his lap), then he would be chastised for any kind of physical intimacy. If Eddie was aware that Waylon spent nights gently touching the man’s face as he slept or carefully drawing fingers through his unusual hair, he certainly never mentioned it in the mornings.

Not that he expected Eddie ever _would_ , even if he did know.

Any attempt at breeching a topic along those lines was usually shot down in a hurry.

He turned his head to watch the figure beside him sleep. The rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic, as you’d expect from one that was deep into a sleep cycle. Eddie’s face during the day was usually kept expressionless. Either that, or some look of worry. He could count the number of time’s he’d seen the man smile – _genuinely_ smile – on one hand. But in sleep it was relaxed, softer, appeared younger.

Such an air of innocence for one that had killed so many.

Still, that was not this Eddie. So he’d been told. And he chose to believe, now. Waylon reached up, slowly, and lightly touched his companion’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. He couldn’t explain why, the urge was simply there. Last week, like he had to do every fortnight, he’d had to answer a progress report. In the box titled _‘How are you feeling about your live-in partner?’_ he usually composed an essay. The words and feelings changed over time, but never the amount he could say about Eddie.

Last week, he simply left a solitary question mark in there.

There would be repercussions, but it was a bit late to worry about that now. Tomorrow was his scheduled meeting with the counsellor, it would be brought up then. He still wasn’t sure what answer he was going to give. A question mark was the best he had.

He trailed fingertips down to Eddie’s jaw, flinching and pulling his hand back sharply as the other man stirred. There was little danger really; Eddie had never woken up during their nights in this bed, not even once. But it had spooked him all the same. Eddie settled again and so did he, although it took him a minute or two before his heart stopped pounding against his ribcage and calm descended.

Perhaps that was enough for tonight. He really should be thinking about going to sleep. Or even better, actually attempting it. The orderlies were not generous when it came to lie-ins, if you were left alone to sleep until past half-seven, then you were lucky indeed.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted, attempting to move up without disturbing the other. In what had become the habitual end to his nights spent lying awake, turning things over in his mind, Waylon leant up and briefly pressed lips to the corner of Eddie’s jaw. It was something he wouldn’t _dare_ attempt while the man was awake, but something he had thought about doing often enough that he was tired of pretending otherwise.

At least when it was dark and he was alone with his own thoughts.

Or near enough.

Pulling back, he settled back against his pillow, letting his gaze rest once more on the ceiling. He would wake up later and carry on as if nothing happened. And for now, that was okay. These moments were his. He’d share them when Eddie was ready. When the time came.

If the time came.


End file.
